One Little Lie

by Sam Carrington

  ‘You okay?’ Connie walked behind Verity as she entered the gatehouse and they both waited for the OSG to release the door to the glass pod.

  ‘Tired. Been really busy here,’ she said, without looking at Connie. ‘And I guess I’ll be your key person again today.’

  Connie smiled, but Verity’s attitude was making her uncomfortable and she had more important things on her mind than trying to butter her up. She was clearly fed up with having to hand-hold Connie, going onto the block and running around after her. She wanted to tell her she was as fed up about it as she was, but it probably wouldn’t help the situation.

  Verity retrieved her keys with her numbered tally and once the OSG had released the door, they walked outside into the sterile area. Connie puffed out the air she’d been holding. The feeling she had – the griping contraction of her stomach, her pulse racing scarily fast – was getting more intense with each visit. This had to be the last time walking through that door, she decided. Even though part of her desperately wanted to get answers, to figure this whole thing out and help in the process, she realised it wasn’t worth this personal trauma. Whatever today brought – whether Kyle was willing to talk, give names, or not – she didn’t want to do this again. Kyle Mann could threaten all he wanted. She’d dump the phone – or give it to Lindsay – and take her chances. She’d had enough.

  ‘You got my message then,’ Kyle said as soon as he was seated opposite her.

  Connie had arranged to meet him in the portacabin used by the offending behaviour programmes team. She’d booked the smaller room; the Thinking Skills Programme was running in the larger one. Connie felt safe knowing others were within shouting distance, but it was private enough to be able to talk freely. She’d positioned two low-back comfy chairs opposite each other with a round table separating them, making sure she was nearest the door, and the alarm.

  ‘I did get your message,’ Connie said, her voice steady.

  Kyle sat forwards, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together. ‘Sorry for the delivery method, but I didn’t know how else to get you to come back. Jen said you’d done your bit and had left, and I only wanted to speak to you, no one else.’ His words were rushing out at great speed and Connie wasn’t sure if he was agitated or excited – or high. He looked pale, strained. She almost said she’d only come in because the police had asked her to, but stopped herself. It would be better if he thought she was there because of his instructions – let him think he was in control.

  ‘Okay,’ Connie said, her hands raised to calm him. ‘Well now you have me here, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?’

  ‘Firstly, my mum. It’s shit being in here, getting the odd piece of information about how she is but not being given the whole picture. Not being able to go to her, be by her side, is killing me.’ Kyle’s jaw muscles clenched, his knee bouncing anxiously as he stared at Connie. She was surprised to see the intensity of the worry etched on his face.

  ‘I imagine it’s stressful.’ Connie allowed herself to relax a little. Talking about Alice was her aim too, so it was a great place to begin the discussion. If that’s all he wanted, she’d had no cause to be worried about the reasoning behind him sending her the mobile. ‘What leads you to believe you aren’t being told the full picture?’ she frowned.

  ‘I had two coppers turn up here, wanting to get information. They’d got the prison chaplain to tell me about my mum first, so when they came, all they did was accuse me of knowing who’d been responsible for her attack. Straight in they were, going on about my “contacts” on the outside. I knew what they were getting at.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘You need to ask? Come on, Miss. You had the same idea, didn’t you? That I wasn’t alone when I killed that lad?’

  Connie did a quick weighing up in her head – should she come clean, or play dumb? Which option was her best shot at getting him to tell the truth? She decided to take a slight detour – answer the question with a question.

  ‘But what’s that got to do with the attack on your mother?’

  ‘Plenty.’ Kyle slumped back in the chair and turned his head towards the window. The portacabin looked out across one of the newer living blocks, the greys of the building giving off a depressing air. Kyle still looked like a teenager, despite being twenty-two – his skin was soft and smooth. Connie didn’t rush him, didn’t prompt him to elaborate; she had enough time to take this slowly, the wing officer knew where he was and Connie had marked ‘lunchtime’ as her approximate return time on the psychology office’s board. Kyle turned back and sighed before leaning forwards. ‘You know when you don’t know what to do for the best anymore? When what you thought was the better option turns out to be the shittest?’

  ‘Yes, Kyle – I’m aware of that kind of situation,’ Connie admitted.

  ‘I did what I told him I’d do.’

  Connie sat up straighter. ‘Did what who told you to do?’

  ‘Well, that’s the big question everyone wants answered, isn’t it?’ Kyle leant back again, crossing his arms, but kept his eyes on Connie.

  ‘And now you’re ready to answer?’

  ‘I’m not sure ready is the right way of putting it. I’m not prepared for the consequences. But now something’s happened to my mum, and I’m guessing he’s tidying up loose ends – trying to stop his name from ever being linked to Sean Taylor. And there are only a few people who know, or think they know, he was involved. Me – and I’m safely locked up, and he knows I’ve always kept quiet, until recently at least – and my mum, who always knew something wasn’t right. Then I fucked up because of you.’ He rocked gently in the chair. It was clear to Connie she was at fault, but Kyle didn’t appear to be blaming her. It seemed he was more mad at himself for taking the bait – for breaking his self-imposed silence in the first place.

  ‘Because I told you about Alice coming to see me …’

  ‘Yep, precisely. I panicked. I told him. Said my mum was seeing a psychologist. Partly it was to protect him, but mostly it was for her sake. I only thought about the fact she needed to stop seeing you, to stop talking about the bloody murder and banging on about someone else being involved. I didn’t think he’d hurt her.’ His voice caught. ‘The bastard almost killed her. She still might die, mightn’t she?’ His eyes became glossy with tears.

  ‘Doctors induced the coma, Kyle, to prevent any more damage to her brain. Once they get the swelling under control, ensure there are no more bleeds, they’ll slowly bring her out of it. No one is talking about her dying.’ Connie tried to sound more positive than she felt. Kyle needed to hear there was a strong possibility of his mum recovering. ‘Are you sure it was him that did that to your mum?’

  ‘Oh, he probably didn’t do it himself. Not his style – not often he gets his hands dirty.’

  Connie took a minute to process this. So, it wasn’t just one person – there were others, pawns in someone else’s warped game. ‘How many people do you think are involved?’

  He shrugged. ‘He likes to play games. I mean, like computer games, only in real life. He draws other people in, gets them on his site, talks to them for months, building up his profile.’

  ‘His profile?’

  ‘You know, like his online persona. It wasn’t until I’d been in here a few years I realised what he’d done, how well he’d played me.’ He shook his head, tutting. ‘I was the perfect gamer, Miss. And if he found me, he’ll have found others. New players to groom, manipulate.’ His face contorted as he hissed that last word, cracking his knuckles as if to release long-held resentment.

  ‘What on earth did he hold over you to enable him to silence you for four years?’

  ‘Trust. Loyalty. Friendship. Fear. You name it. He’s very clever. Very dangerous.’ Kyle gave a snort. ‘You wouldn’t think it, would you? Being afraid of a nerdy gamer, huh! Pathetic.’

  ‘It’s not always the ones who look scary that we need to be scared of.’

  ‘No,’ he nod
ded vehemently, ‘ain’t that the truth.’

  ‘Does he know you’ve been talking to me?’

  ‘He knows you came to see me, yes. Obviously, I went off on one when you told me about my mum seeing you – her talking about me and stuff. I told him too much.’ He lowered his head.

  Connie wanted to ask outright the name of the unknown male accomplice but was compelled to come clean with what was on her mind first. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure how Kyle would react to her disclosure but felt it safe to assume he wasn’t going to be happy.

  ‘Kyle. I have to tell you something, but I want you to know, I didn’t lie to you.’

  His face darkened. ‘Go on.’

  ‘When I told you your mum was seeing me, it’s what I believed.’

  He shifted forwards, his eyes wide. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying an Alice Mann was coming to me for counselling,’ Connie started, but then hesitated, knowing there was no coming back if she carried on. She let her head loll back. She had to say it: ‘But it was not your mum.’

  ‘What the fuck …’ Kyle’s eyes widened, the whites of his eyes showing his shock. And probably, Connie realised, anger. She had to tread carefully.

  ‘I didn’t find out until your mum was attacked. When I saw her picture in the paper, that’s when I realised. The woman coming to see me knew everything about Sean Taylor’s murder, and talked about you being her son. She spoke of how she’d set up a support group for other parents, everything. I didn’t have a single reason to question her identity.’

  Kyle was frowning so hard that deep furrows appeared across his forehead and his eyes were lost beneath his brows. Connie held her breath, waiting for whatever outburst might come. She shifted her legs, turning her body slightly more towards the alarm.

  Minutes seemed to go by, and still Kyle remained silent. Then he pushed himself from the low chair. Connie flinched, then stood herself, moving to the doorway, expecting him to bolt from the room. He didn’t though. Instead, he walked to the window, standing with his back against it. She forced herself to relax, the increased distance between them now putting her at ease again – at least momentarily.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ he said, finally, shaking his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kyle. It’s my fault—’

  ‘No. No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.’

  ‘I’ve no idea why someone would pretend to be your mum, I … I still don’t know who she really is.’ Connie couldn’t find any other words to help the situation.

  ‘Oh, I have a good idea who she is.’

  Connie raised her eyebrows. His declaration was unexpected. ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘I think the woman you’ve been seeing may be his mum.’

  Connie wasn’t sure she was following Kyle’s train of thought. ‘Whose?’

  Kyle slumped back in the chair, running his hands through his hair. ‘Jesus. It makes sense now – why you thought you were seeing my mum. It was her. Had to be. What the hell is she playing at?’ It was like Kyle had forgotten Connie was there, and was talking to himself, muttering under his breath.

  ‘Kyle?’ Connie took a step forwards, her eagerness for him to continue palpable.

  ‘Tom’s mum,’ he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper. His gaze travelled to the door. Connie knew he was about to bolt.

  ‘Tom who?’ she asked.

  Kyle was too quick – he jumped up and darted through the door. Connie didn’t try to stop him.

  She’d got a first name, and an acknowledgement someone else had been involved with Sean Taylor’s murder – the person who was still free to kill again. And she knew she’d met his mother. No wonder she wasn’t keen on talking to Connie any longer.

  Now she could relay this new information to Lindsay and Mack and they could take over.

  Her work here was done.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  Angela

  Bill would’ve been an ideal dad for Tom. Tough, but caring; strong, yet capable of emotion. Nothing like David. Tom has ruined any attempt I could’ve made now. Tom has ruined a lot. But the fault is mine. Can I stop him from doing more harm? I have to try.

  I carry the mug of tea down the steps to the basement. He’s kept that door open for the last few days. Not his door though, that remains locked – but small steps. I give three sharp knocks and wait. I almost spill the tea as Tom flings the door open.

  ‘Morning. Thought you’d like a cuppa,’ I say, holding the mug up. I smile.

  For a second, he stares, unblinking. ‘Cheers.’ He takes it and moves to close the door. I take a step forwards, putting one foot between the door and the frame.

  ‘What do you want?’ he says. He’s irritated with me already. It doesn’t seem to take much.

  ‘We need to talk, Tom. About what happens next.’

  His skin blanches. ‘What do you mean, what happens next?’ His hand falls from the door. I make the most of this opportunity and gently push my way into his room. It’s the first time I’ve been in it for months. It’s immaculate. Not like a teenager’s room. But I guess he isn’t a teenager anymore. I just feel like he is. Maybe I’ve treated him like one for far too long.

  ‘I mean, where we go from here. You’ve done another bad thing, Tom. Unforgivable. You can’t go unpunished – or at least, untreated.’ I sit on the edge of his bed. He’s still standing by the door, but has turned to face me.

  ‘Unpunished? Untreated?’ His face glows reds. ‘What the fuck do you mean?’

  ‘I protected you before, but you’ve let me down. I can’t keep on doing this. You have to stop.’ I hold back from sharing my sense of the net closing in around us since Connie confronted me yesterday. If Tom carries on hurting people, I, alone, won’t be able to protect him.

  ‘I will. I told you that!’

  ‘It’s not as simple as you saying you won’t do it again. You said that the first time. You need help, Tom.’

  I want to ask him what he did to Isabella – how he got to her, how he took her life. Fear of the answers stop me. Or maybe in my heart I believe that by not knowing the details, I can’t be made to divulge them if the time comes. If police ever come knocking. The less I know, the better, in some ways.

  ‘Enough now, Mum,’ he says as he firmly pulls me towards the door, and I allow him to steer me out. I’ll save my strength for another day.

  Telling Tom he needed help was only the beginning. I know he needs it, and so do I. But how? And who is going to give it? To access mental health services would mean him having to talk about his past, talk about why he was seeking treatment. Everything would come out and I’d lose him. If I got rid of his computer, kept him in the house, that would temporarily stop him from getting to other people. As had been discussed at the group meet-ups though, when Bill was sharing how difficult it was keeping Isabella from going out, preventing them leaving the house is not easy, or even a viable option.

  Unless …

  Tom has his own bedroom door in the basement, and it’s a heavy-duty one – not the usual hollow internal door in most houses. Then there’s the door to the basement itself, in the hallway. If I get the keys to both of those, lock him in … the soundproofing would prevent anyone hearing him.

  The idea swirls in my head. Longer term, it isn’t a great plan. But while I wait for things to blow over and try to think of something better, it could work. If I could get the keys. If he doesn’t have spares that I don’t know about. Too many ‘ifs’?

  But it’s something; a start.

  The laptop lies open on the table. Taking my own cup of tea and a bowl of cereal, I sit and scroll through the group support page while I eat.

  Something’s up.

  The last message on each separate thread are all the same. My heart leaps; my spoon drops with a clatter against the china bowl.

  They are all from Wendy.

  Don’t talk on here, I’ll private message you.

  What’s going on?

  CHAPTER
SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Deborah

  I wait by the door to the intensive care unit, my palms sweating. The last time I was at this hospital was when Sean was here. But he was in the morgue; dead on arrival, therefore no ICU, no attempt to save his life. It had been too late for that.

  I hadn’t expected a buzzer system – I thought I would be able to sneak in to see Alice without asking permission. I imagined it would only be family allowed to visit, so didn’t bother phoning to ask if I could. I’m not family; I’m not even a friend.

  I sit in one of the chairs outside the entrance and, taking my mobile out of my bag, I type ‘Torbay Hospital ICU’ into Google. Results only tell me about how the new state-of-the-art unit was opened in February last year and has fourteen beds.

  What was I thinking, coming here? I’m not going to be able to see her – the place isn’t big enough to go in unnoticed, and no doubt the nursing care is one-on-one with the nurse being with her practically all the time. My shoulders drop. I’m wasting my time. I don’t even know why I want to see her. To check the damage for myself? To find out if enough pain has been inflicted on her? Will any of it make me feel better? I doubt it. Actually, I don’t think either of those things are the real reason I’m here.

  I lift my head as a figure slowly moves past me. An elderly man, stooped over, shuffles his way to the door – to the buzzer. Without much thought, I jump up and stand to the side of him.

  ‘Good morning,’ I say.

  The man turns towards me. His eyes are sunken and his skin hangs loosely from his jawline. ‘Morning.’ His voice is a husky whisper, barely audible, and he points to his throat.

  ‘Do you want me to buzz?’ I ask as I lean across him.

  He nods, then takes something from his pocket. The name Veronica Mills is written in block capitals on it. I smile and press the button. When it’s answered, I state the name. The door clicks open and we walk into the ICU together. A nurse at the end of the short corridor nods her head towards the door. My heart drops. She knows I’m not really with this man and she’s telling me to leave. She points to the door. It’s useless, I’m going to have to go. But then I follow her gaze and spot the dispenser on the wall. Relieved, I place my hands underneath it and a squirt of gel lands in them. I smile at the nurse as I stand still, rubbing my hands together. Seemingly happy with that, she rushes off in the opposite direction. I wait for the man to dispense the gel himself and then walk with him as he heads to see Veronica. I’ve no idea which bed Alice is in, and in a moment this man is going to make it clear I’m not with him. I have to find her quickly. Eyes darting around, I try to take in the layout of the unit: how many nursing staff and doctors there are, and how many visitors.